Betrayal
by EruvandeAini
Summary: Alex has it all worked out, she knows exactly what needs to be done to get home. Or so she thinks.
1. Chapter 1

**_Contains spoilers for Life on Mars, and Ashes to Ashes up to episode 7._**

**Set the evening after episode 7 ends. Will probably end up completely AU, and rated M for the content of later chapters.**

_You betrayed him._ The accusation kept turning in her mind, a taunt. She blinked it away. He wasn't real. He was a creation of her subconscious, a completely fictional construct. How could she possibly have betrayed a figment of her imagination? _How could you have betrayed him?_ The thought came again. No, no, that wasn't what she meant. She fiddled with her door key, distractedly.

"_I have to take control."_ She recalled the eerie, solid calm she had felt when she'd known what she had to do in response tothe clown's hysterical warning. She was having trouble holding on to perspective. She needed to cling to what was real, not imagined.

Evan. Evan was real. Real and safe. She had trusted him implicitly for as long as she could remember. That was precisely why… she bit her lower lip as she thought of those photographs. She could still feel the horror of it, the awful betrayal of what her mother had done. _Betrayal._ There it was again. _It was Evan betraying you in those pictures, too, not just your mum._

"No!" She said aloud. Luigi looked up from behind the bar, where he was restocking. He looked confused for a moment.

"And where is Mister Hunt tonight?" he asked, his tone light, but his eyes clouded with concern.

"Who knows, Luigi, who knows." She said politely, smiling. Who cares either, she added silently. _Hunt cares._ The inner voice again. _You betrayed him._ "Agh!" She exclaimed aloud, exasperated by her own conscience. "Another glass of white, please, Luigi."

Not real, remember. She had retained control of her subconscious, brought Shaz back from the clown, and there were just a few days left before her parents and the car. She'd already planned out a way to save them, and DCI Hunt needed to play his part and no more. What was real mattered. It was the only way back to Molly. Oh, the pain of not having seen her for so many weeks now. Not really weeks of course. Mere minutes in reality, since she had watched Molly catch her kiss and walk away with Evan, safe after the incident with Layton. She would get back to her. She was fighting, doing what needed to be done. She would save her parents and wake up and somehow it would all be ok.

_Sam didn't_. The thought came from nowhere as she sipped at the glass that Luigi had set before her. Sam didn't what? _Sam didn't save his dad. _Well no, his trigger was later than that, with Frank Morgan. _But Sam still thought he could do it._ Oh. Alex understood. What if she was wrong about this? What if she couldn't save them? What if she was never meant to?

"But I have to. I can't just…" She said aloud again, but Luigi wasn't around to look at her strangely now. Self-doubt crushed her, her training and experience counting for nothing. What did she really know? She'd not been able to predict Sam Tyler's decision to kill himself.

Ray had told her Sam had returned, lived here for years. She hadn't really pursued why her subconscious had added that detail, but she suddenly pondered why Sam had chosen to return here. Whatever the reality of what had happened to him in his dying seconds, he had deliberately leapt from that roof. To come back to this? What, in a dying, decaying fantasy world, could possibly have over-ridden a good career, surviving such a shocking accident and managing to beat a coma, his mother?

_What keeps you here?_ She thought of her mother. As deeply painful as it was to confront her childhood insecurities, magnified as an adult, she could at least see her mother whenever she needed to. Evan was here too, albeit young and attractive, rather than old and reserved.

"_I did this for you. Happy now?"_ Hunt's eyes bore into her memory, she shivered slightly at the resentment there. She should have known what he'd do after that, a wounded lion, lashing out. She'd gone to Evan because she could see it spinning out of control, see Hunt destroying himself and she'd lose him. _Lose who?__You set him on a fool's errand, and then you betrayed him_

"He's not real. The only reality here is me, Evan and my parents." She muttered, taking a large gulp of wine. _No, your parents are dead. If one thing isn't real, then none of it is. If Shaz isn't real, then neither is Caroline Price. Tim Price is no more real than the clown is no more real than Evan is no more real than Gene._

"No, but Evan is safe harbour, just like always. My subconscious has put him here because he is someone I can trust, a link to my reality." She didn't need the inner voice to give her the next cue. "So what is Gene Hunt, and what is he here for?" She completed the thought, her eyes closed, weary of trying to process this all through.

"A magnificent example of forceful masculinity, here to see if it's possible to drink you under the table, Bolly."


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a pointless pig of a day, full of backtracking paperwork and the completion of a case that should have been a satisfying tribute to his instincts, but instead just left him uncharacteristically sheepish. The whole thing has started so well; straight-forward sympathetic victim, good chance of public recognition and assistance, every reason, or so he thought, to give that bloody woman a chance to shine.

He'd gone along with the reconstruction, and thought the idea of Hollis retracing his steps might be useful (which, as it turned out, it was, just not in the way he had anticipated). Somewhere in all that, he had managed to ask her out. Not quite as confidently as he'd wanted, but still. She had agreed, after all.

Oh, but then. He was right to trust his instincts, he damn well knew it. He clung to the thought defiantly for a few seconds, firing up the Quattro's ignition. Foot to the floor, he set his jaw but he couldn't hold it. No real reason to, no one else to convince. He had ballsed it up and all the instincts in the world couldn't soften the blow.

He'd let her down, stuffed it up when she'd needed him to respect her. He knew it when she'd called off Caroline bleedin' attack dog Price. That bitch scented blood and wanted sauce on her pound of flesh. But Alex, she took no relish from his humiliation. She had done the right thing. He knew it like he knew when he'd been winded by a punch.

Those last moments of madness yesterday, watching Chris sob like a kid, his pretty girlfriend lying there like she was already on the mortuary slab, the blind impotence of letting him and Ray vent their rage on that pathetic twat Hollis, what was it bloody for? He drove on autopilot to Luigi's. She would be upstairs again, perhaps with that Evan bloke. The thought cut into him like a splinter under a thumbnail.

She had spent the least amount of time possible in the office today, and the lack of eye-contact told him all he needed to know from her. So he would go in, drink until his liver fainted and forget he gave a damn about what she thought of him.

And there she was, a brace of empty wineglasses already in front of her. She was slouched over, one hand propping up her head, the other punctuating the conversation she seemed to be having with herself..

"So, what is Gene Hunt, and what is he doing here?" She said, without turning.

The sound of his name from her lips actually made him feel… hopeful. He paused for a split second, but decided the lack of scornful tone in her voice was excuse enough to jump in with both feet.

"A magnificent example of forceful masculinity, here to see if it's possible to drink you under the table, Bolly." It was a peace offering, a plea wrapped in barbed wire that he was almost certain she would treat with contempt. Maybe he wanted her to. He knew he needed to take the kicking that was coming to him. What was killing him was that she didn't dish it out, she just looked up at him, startled.

He called to Luigi for whatever the lady was having, and inside he was yelling at her to get on with it, but she said nothing.

"What's the matter with you, woman, bit your own tongue off?" It was another goad, trying to provoke a reaction, but she just looked down into her wine. Taking a breath, he hung his head, rubbed his finger and thumb briefly in the centre of his forehead, the other hand pushing down on the bar.

"Alex, I'm sorry." He said into his chest, his eyes closed. He sensed movement, and for one awful, lonely moment, he thought she was off the barstool and leaving. He opened his eyes to see she had turned fully to face him.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex fought to retain control of her self now he was beside her. Had she summoned him up by her thoughts? What _was_ she in control of here anyway? She could bring Shaz back from the dead, but, try as she might, she couldn't second guess this bear of a man. He was waiting for a response. What the _hell _was he doing here anyway? After what she'd done to him, after her angry push at the end of yesterday. What would it take to push him too far? _Do you really want to find out, Alex?_

She suddenly knew she didn't. Something inside her, however much her rational sense disagreed, trusted him. She heard him apologize and the jumble in her mind became resolve. If Evan was the safety of home, maybe Gene was the safety of this place. She turned to him and took hold of his hand. It was a conciliatory gesture, but he flinched like she'd moved to slap him. She laughed in gentle mockery and kept his hand in hers.

"Gene, I'm not going to fight you." She was smiling and she bent her head coquettishly to the side as she saw his eyes narrow. He still looked ready to defend himself from a punch, but his hand stayed in hers, and even returned the slight pressure.

"'Scuse me if I don't underestimate your ability to clock me one." He said ruefully, rubbing his chin to remind her that she had already given him plenty of reasons to take a step back when she got angry. She was still smiling as she acknowledged what he meant.

"Ah. Yes."

"Too bloody right, yes. Anyway, 'ow are you? Bit of a mess to clear up today." His tone was light, but the intensity in his eyes let her know he knew exactly what was wrong with what he done.

She put her other hand over the hand she still grasped and nodded. What could she say? He had made some spectacularly bad decisions, however right his gut had been. But he was here, now, with a reticent Gene Hunt apology, another kick to his own pride. Why had he even let her do any of it in the first place? She had ended fighting him in the end, like always, but she hadn't wanted to. Even when she went over his head, he had barely seemed to growl at her.

She realized she was still holding his hand, and she wasn't doing it for him now. She was holding on to safety, to a feeling so, so deep, it felt like a memory.

"It's done. Doesn't matter anymore. I'm going home soon, and it will _all_ just be memories." She noticed he was looking down at their hands, and the slight nervousness in his demeanour evaporated, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand.

"Don't have to go yet, I've only just got here." He said firmly, taking a hefty mouthful of wine.

_Seconds away from death_, she thought_, and I really think this is a good place to be. _It suddenly occurred to her that it might already be too late anyway.

"Good god, Bolly, you trying to cut it off?" Hunt said as she had dug her nails into his hand, unconsciously, in horror at the thought that this was all just a futile illusion, just a stopover on the way into forever darkness.

She shook her head slightly and looked at him. She couldn't make out what was behind his expression, but she let go of his hand and looked back down at her own. What if she was dead already? Why did she think there was _anything_ she could really change here? What would she do now if these events were just a last burst of neurons, meaningless to her recovery? If Molly were already lost to her, where would she choose to spend her last seconds? Everything was about to go black, just one last view of her own mother's death to cut into her soul before it was gone.

Would she be betraying her mother if she didn't try to save her in her memories? Betraying Molly by not fighting an imaginary war in her dying second? She was sobbing now, feeling as alone as she likely was on that cold boat, icy and damn near lifeless.

"_You want soul, I'll give you soul."_

And there was that memory again, warm safety in spite of losing _everything. _Hunt had taken her hands again, not just in a token of peace now, but a firm strong grasp of protection, both hands pulled up to his chest, and the other hand pulling her fully to him. She could feel the press of his lips on the top of her head, and _oh god, if this was where she had to die,_ _bring it on._ She could almost believe he could fight it away for her.

"Gene, take me upstairs." She said, looking up at him, her heart despairing and hoping all at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

Hunt felt sure she was about to slap him again when she took hold of his hand. He wasn't sure how to defend himself against her affectionate response. He looked into her eyes, playful and glowing with something he didn't understand. He was in no hurry for her to let go of his hand, though, allowing himself a small moment to enjoy it.

They sparred lightly and, just as he was sure she was going to release his hand, she put her other hand over it too. It was like being plugged into a mains supply of electric life. He was totally distracted now, her hands warm and soft, and was suddenly somewhere else in his mind, her hands still touching him, softly clinging to him as she let him run his own hands over her naked form. He blinked, realizing she'd just said something about leaving.

"Don't have to go yet, I've only just got 'ere." He said, gulping at his wine to clear his mind of that wicked image of her and then nails were digging into him and that _really _wasn't part of that image. Well, not like this, anyway.

"Good god, Bolly, you trying to cut it off?" He looked at her, seeing her eyes shining with tears as she shook her head and let go of his hand. She looked as lost as he'd ever seen her, her curls tumbling round her face, her shoulders slumped hopelessly in a red satin blouse. The thought crossed his mind that she might be wearing the red basque under it, and he suddenly felt like slapping himself. _Time and place, Hunt, you clumsy dolt, she's crying._

He cast a quick glance round the bar, but there was no one else there he knew, and right then he didn't much care anyway. He wanted to hold her, and yes his motives were mixed, but that was how it was with this irritating posh bird who he wanted and hated and…

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, let her sob her heart out in his arms, kissing her head like she was a frightened child. She looked up, her eyes about as beautiful as he'd ever seen them.

"Gene, take me upstairs." She was subdued, but sounded certain. He swallowed down the sudden need to kiss her properly. _Time to stop pissing about, Hunt, you're not a bleedin' Casanova, look after the woman._ Like so many times before, he scooped her up, and this time he felt her yield to it, and damn, that felt good.

He got them to the top of the stairs and set her down at the door. She slid the key in the lock, her hands shaking. He closed his hand over hers and turned it, swinging the door open and carrying her through. She'd left one lamp on, and he navigated through to the bedroom in the dim light. He set her down on the bed, a little too heavily, his hair falling into his face a little.

"Right." He said, firmly, catching his breath, watching her lie there, slightly curled on her side. He deliberately straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Drake."

_Time to go, sunshine _he told himself as he turned away, but she caught his hand suddenly, lifting her self up a little on the bed. Her curves were so obvious in the half-light, the satin of that blouse making him see things he wasn't sure he really could.

"Please, Gene. Stay with me." She pleaded, and yes, there was a little-girl-lost there, but there was also a woman, real, fiery and in need of a serious seeing-to. He knew how this worked.

"You're drunk, Bols, and I might not always know when to hold back a thump, but I know when to hold up my trousers. Get some sleep."

"I'm not drunk, but I am sure I can't be alone right now." She said steadily, shaking her head slightly, the tumble of those curls mesmerizing him, as she pulled his hand towards her. He could feel the steel of her determination, and felt his own resolve begin to buckle against it. He let himself sit on the edge of the bed, interlacing his fingers with hers in a rather half-hearted attempt to maintain distance and self-control.

"Bolly…" He began, but she put her other hand to his mouth, drawing herself up onto her knees on the bed in front of him.

"Sh.. shut up, you bloody-minded, stubborn, arrogant, cocksure bastard. I am asking you to stay with me, right here and now because… because I don't even know if there's going to be a tomorrow and I don't have time for all the goodbyes I want to say and I am so, so tired of thinking and…"

He told himself he was kissing her to shut her up, but he knew it was a bald-faced lie. He was kissing her because he was damned sure he wanted to, and he knew it more with every second his mouth tasted hers. His good intentions were a memory as he took her other hand and pushed her back on the bed, his heart racing as he realized she offered no resistance, just gentle, open, unhesitating surrender, both arms above her head, even.

He pulled back enough to look into her big pretty eyes again, and then he was completely lost in the kiss, in the trust she placed in him, and in the knowledge that whatever was coming, he would fight for her when she couldn't fight for herself. He would hold her hands to the end of time if he had to.

**And that's it for this one, I think, I'm all wrung out with the angst! :-) It's hard work being in the heads of these two.**


End file.
